


the world was built for two

by orphan_account



Category: Video Games - Lana Del Rey (Song)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, F/M, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7005139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, she was his daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world was built for two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [garnet_dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/garnet_dragon/gifts).



At first, she was his daughter.

She stood on the dingy stage at Old Paul's, dressed in some white, frilly inconvenience, singing a jazzy tune that was too big for her – "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me" or something like that – and she stood there, clinging to the mic stand, enveloped in the wispy smoke of old men's cigars.

And there he sat. Watching her with pride swelling in his eyes, seated at a table right up front, all alone. He wasn't her father, but he looked old enough to be – thirty-five, with dark hair thinning at the temples and crow's feet at the corners of his eyes when he smiled at her.

She got the sense that he wasn't like the others. He didn't look up her dress from his vantage point below the stage, didn't give a vulgar, patronizing wolf-whistle when she hit a high note, didn't throw crumpled dollar bills at her when she curtsied shyly at the end of her set.

She stepped down from the stage, surrounded by echoes of sparse applause, and headed toward the back to collect her measly paycheck.

"You're really good, you know."

It was him. She faltered, could think of nothing to say.

"I mean it. You've got a beautiful voice. Is this the only place you sing?"

She watched the low light dance across his face, illuminating the week-old beard and aquiline nose. "Thank you. Yeah, I don't sing anywhere else," she said. Her speaking voice was like her singing voice: young, thin, immature. She registered his handsomeness, her undeniable youth.

"I know somebody who can get you some more gigs if you're interested."

"That – that would be really nice, actually."

"Your name?"

"Ruby." She told him her stage name, preferring it to her true name for its youth and musicality and utter lack of baggage.

"Ruby, Ruby. " She watched her name dance on his lips and didn't regret using it. "Thanks, I'll remember."

His name, he would later tell her, was John: was that his real name, she wondered?

Slowly, she became something like his little sister.

He watched her sing at Old Paul's and at the new venues he'd helped her get into. He was always the first and loudest to applaud. Having John around made her feel safer – the leers and wolf-whistles evaporated in his presence, as if his demeanor silently signaled that she was his, that she was with him.

Then he would take her home, and they would sit on the couch while he played some video game she never bothered to learn the name of. She'd get him a beer from the fridge. "Want a sip?" he'd ask with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. When she declined, he'd laugh and gladly drink it up himself, then ask for another, and another, never seeming to get drunk.

At the time, it impressed her. Someday, Ruby wanted to be just like John.

"You try, Ruby," he'd say sometimes, handing her the controller.

She'd fiddle inexpertly with the buttons and joysticks, trying to get the figure on the screen to move where she wanted it to, and he'd laugh at her lack of finesse and nudge her on the shoulder. "Maybe you should stick to your singing and I should stick to my games," he'd say. "Why don't you sing me a little something?"

And she would.

She would never forget the day she became his wife.  
She plays her first big gig, is really beginning to grow up, he sees this, takes her home, makes her dinner, gives her a glass of wine, fucks her on the couch.

She sang at her first real show, where everyone was there to hear her. She sang with a newfound confidence; her timid voice could finally fill the notes in "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me," most often when she looked at John, sitting below her, beaming. She sang to him and him alone, starting to really believe the lyrics she sang. It dawned on her in that moment how badly she wanted him.

Never in her life had she ever wanted anything or anyone so badly. She wanted to be his, for him to love her like he loved his video games and his beer. She wanted him to take her to bed, for him to hold her and whisper "Ruby, Ruby..."

When he drove her home that night, to the home they now shared, he drove with one hand, using his other hand to clasp hers, gently squeezing. At red lights, he turned and kissed her on the forehead. She blushed, but it was too dark for him to notice – she hoped.

He made her a lovely dinner, tender chicken and mashed potatoes. It was much better than anything her mother used to make when she lived at home. He poured a glass of wine for each of them; he drank his quickly and poured himself another without hesitation. She sipped hers – it was drier than she would have liked for her first glass of wine, and it tingled on its way down to her belly.

When she realized she had become his mother, she knew she had to get out. 

She woke up every morning and knew immediately that he needed a beer to stave off his hangover. When she got up to walk to the fridge, he never stirred, only snored loudly. She was quiet anyhow, just in case. Then she set the beer on the nightstand and waited for him to wake up. Sometimes that wasn't until noon. When he did wake, he was irritable, chugging the beer and immediately demanding another, which she would dutifully fetch.


End file.
